Susanna

Halloween seems like a good time to share a story that began long, long before I was born. I've often thought that if I ever wrote a book, I'd write about this. However, I don't think I have enough background information to make it non-fiction. Then again, I am currently reading a book written by a woman who found a newspaper article from way back about a woman found frozen in the snow in northern Minnesota way back when. She researched and wasn't able to find any more information. Yet she was inspired to right a fiction story based on the woman found frozen to death. Who knows, maybe some day I'll find the inspiration to do something similar with this story.

When I was little, I remember hearing a story about a relative named Susanna who drowned herself and her infant in a pond on their farm after hanging her shawl on a tree branch next to the pond. As a kid, I didn't think much about it. After all, it had happened back in the "olden days" and I had no interest in family history at that point. I remembered the story over the years, but didn't give it much thought.

Several years back, as my sister Jo and my parents were putting flowers on the graves of relatives on

Memorial Day, Jo had the idea to put flowers on Susanna's grave. But, the grave couldn't be located. The records of the church Susanna had attended had been destroyed in a fire and although her husband and his second wife's graves were at the cemetery next to this church, Susanna's couldn't be found.

After my dad died, I suddenly became more interested in our family history. It was then that I actually listened to the story about Susanna closely enough to realize who she was. Susanna was my great-great grandma and my dad's great grandma. The story we heard as kids was that Susanna had a newborn baby and was sick with milk fever (though I'm not sure what that was). Her husband, Nicholas, had told her that there were men coming to help out at the farm the next day and she needed to get up and cook for them. In the night, Susanna supposedly got up and drown herself and the newborn in the pond, after hanging her shawl on the nearby tree branch. This happened in May of 1876.

My sisters and I looked for an obituary or a newspaper article to give us further information on what had happened or where she might be buried. Our search turned up nothing. Then Mother told us that she thought she knew the location of the farm where Susanna died. All we had previously known was that it was in Union Township in Houston County, MN. Mother recalled that when she and Daddy were newly married, Minnie Zibrowski (My great grandma, who was Susanna's oldest child) had taken them to a farm to pick apples. As they drove in, Minnie commented that going there always made her sad, because it was where mother had drown herself and her baby. Mother said she hadn't asked Minnie any questions about it. People really didn't talk about things like that back then. With the new found information that Mother might know where the farm was, we all loaded into our van and headed for Union Township. Mother always has such a great memory that it shouldn't have surprised me that she led us right to the farm. The narrow gravel road that led to the farm made it easy to imagine the horses and wagons that Susanna and her family must have used to travel the same road in the 1870's. As we approached the farm, Mother quickly pointed our where the driveway used to be back when she picked apples there. It had since been moved. However, we didn't see a pond. We drove beyond the house and turned around. As we drove back past the farm again, we saw what obviously used to be a pond, now dry. There was also an small ramshackle old building across the road from the farm. We assumed it must be the original house where Susanna and Nicholas lived.



The old house where Susanna and Nicholas lived



It was very exciting to finally know where Susanna had lived and ultimately died. However, we still didn't know where she was buried. We suspected that since the death was ruled a suicide, she likely wasn't allowed to be buried in a church cemetery. Doing some research online, I learned that in those days, suicide victims were occasionally buried within church cemeteries, but they were placed in the far northeast corner in unmarked graves, and often buried face down. I found that heart wrenching.

An interesting aside to the story (and probably the direction I would go if I ever wrote a fictional story based on Susanna's death) is that a good friend and neighbor of my mom's told her that there was some speculation about Susanna's death. This woman's Mother had told her that there was a rumor that Nicholas had actually murdered Susanna and the baby. He had served in the Civil War and apparently came back from it as a very harsh and unfriendly man. Adding to the speculation of his involvement in the deaths, he remarried less than 2 months later. If you are thinking it was simply to have a mother for his remaining children, I should point out that those same children were then sent to live with Nicholas' brother and his wife.

We drove past that farm many times, wondering if possibly Susanna and her baby had been buried on the farm or in the nearby woods. We knocked on the door of the new house to see if the owners had any information. They were never home. Or maybe they thought we were Jehovah's Witnesses.

Mother was very interested in finding where Susanna was buried and finding more information on her death. When Mother was in hospice I commented that soon she would know the whole story on Susanna and jokingly asked her to send us a sign where Susanna was buried if God would let her. She said she would, which made me chuckle.

The beginning of last November, my brother-in-law, Keith, saw a neighbor of the current owners of the farm where Susanna died. He told her the story of Susanna. Later that same evening, the owners of the farm visited the neighbor and Susanna's name was brought up. The current owners of the farm had been informed of Susanna's death when they bought the place. They had also been told that she was buried in Union Cemetery, but since it was a suicide, no gravestone was allowed. Supposedly a wooden cross once marked the grave, but it had since been removed. She was reportedly buried in the northeast corner of the cemetery near a group of pine trees. I had actually searched that area for a marker after the research I did indicated where suicide victims were often buried. There was a sunken spot near the trees and I wondered if it could be the spot.

Keith also went to the Houston County Historical Society and asked for help in possibly finding a newspaper report of Susanna's death. My sister, Char and I had each previously tried to find copies of the Caledonia Argus from May 1876, to see if there was an article on Susanna's death. Interestingly, several months of the 1876 Argus, including May, were missing. Keith found the same thing. But, the woman working in the Historical Society suggested checking for an article in the newspaper from nearby, Hokah. Bingo! There was an article. It talked of how Susanna had supposedly suffered from "partial derangement of the mind" and that in the middle of the night, she rose from bed and took the baby outside. It went on to say that she first tried to drown herself and the baby in "a small mud hole that contained not over a foot of water". The article continued that since "her efforts were unsuccessful" she went on to drown herself and her baby in another hole that contained 3 feet of water.

How incredible that we had a newspaper article documenting the death. Of course, being the detective that I am (ha ha) I have to admit that I question a few things in the report. If she rose in the middle of the night and the bodies were found in the morning, how could it be determined that she tried to first drown herself and the baby in a 1 foot deep mud hole. Was someone watching and observed this, or what evidence was found to support this idea? I also wonder how much investigating was done back in 1876. Surely there were no CSI agents. My guess is that they asked Nicholas what happened and this is the story he gave. While it could have happened the way he explained, one has to wonder.

While Keith was at the Historical Society, he also mentioned that we thought we knew where Susanna was buried, but weren't sure. He was told that he should consider "witching" to find the grave. He (like the rest of the family) had no idea what "witching" was. I still don't know exactly how it's done, but I know you take two wires and hold them a certain way over a grave. If there is a female buried there, the wires supposedly move a certain way and if a male is buried there, the wires move a different way. I find it very difficult to believe that Keith actually went and tried this, but he did. He says the wires moved to indicate a female was buried at the sunken spot. He said he also tried it over marked graves and the wires moved to correctly identify those people as male or female as well. I find it all kind of spooky and am not sure that I want to believe that method could actually be accurate. But I sure wish I would have been there when Keith did this. It would have been fun to videotape! Regardless if the "witching" worked, we now assume this is where Susanna and her baby girl are buried.

Last Thanksgiving weekend, Jo and I put Christmas decorations on Mother and Daddy's grave. Jo had also found some solar decorations for some the graves of relatives. I decided to buy a solar angel to put on Susanna's grave. I found out weeks later that the angel scared some nearby neighbors. They also apparently knew the story of Susanna and as they looked out their window on a dark winter's night, they saw a glowing light in the old cemetery, right about where Susanna was rumored to be buried. Word got back to Keith pretty quickly, asking if family had put something on the grave as they were concerned about the glowing light!

Whether Susanna actually took her own life and the life of her newborn, or if Nicholas was some how involved, we will likely never know. At one point, I commented that it would have been better if Susanna had never married Nicholas. Then it occurred to me that were the case, I wouldn't be here. So I guess I'm glad she did marry him. I just wish her life hadn't ended so tragically.

An interesting tidbit is that my great grandma, Minnie (Susana's daughter) did have a happy marriage. She and husband, William Zibrowski were married for 65 years. While Susanna's husband either had a hand in her death or at the very least wasn't very kind to her and remarried quickly upon her death, Minnie married a man who couldn't live without her. On their 50th wedding anniversary, William and Minnie renewed their wedding vows. I have heard they liked to "rib" each other in a good natured way. Sometime between the night of Thursday, May 6, 1954 and the morning of Friday, May 7, 1954, Minnie, age 87, passed away in her sleep. William, age 94 but not previously ill, passed away on the afternoon of Sunday, May 9, 1954. Everyone said he died of a broken heart. A double funeral was held for them.

Mother told me she had hoped that she and Daddy would make it to 65 years of marriage just like William and Minnie. If that had happened, she would have been 87 and Daddy would have been 94, the same ages as William and Minnie. When Daddy died, he and Mother had been married for 63 years. My parents would occasionally "rib" each other too. I'm betting that when Mother got to Heaven she teased Daddy that she held up to her end of the bargain. She died about four months after what would have been their 65th Anniversary.

We have continued to look for information on Susanna. We know her maiden name was Thieme or Tieman. She was born in 1846, although we are not sure where. We have no information on her parents or any siblings. We don't have any pictures that have been identified as Susanna. She married Nicholas Hains (Haines, Heinz, Heins, Hines Heintz) on August 5, 1866 in Dubuque, IA. William had served in the Civil War prior to their marriage. We do not know where they met each other. By 1867 they were living in Union Township.

I still occasionally search the internet hoping to find further information on Susanna. Hopefully some day we learn about her life before she married Nicholas. While Susanna's  life ended tragically, I see God's goodness in how he provided for Minnie. Minnie was only 9 when her mother died. That had to be devastating. She was then sent to live with her uncle and his wife. Yet she found a wonderful man to marry and they had 65 wonderful years together and only a couple days apart before being reunited in Heaven. Even if I never learn any more about Susanna while I am alive, I am confident that one day I will know the whole story. All the puzzle pieces will fall into place and it will all make sense. And on that day, I will get to meet this woman, Susanna, whose life and death we have wondered about. I will also get to meet William and Minnie, whose lives I consider to be a love story.

Auger Cookies

There were always plenty of cookies on hand in Mother's kitchen. The usual varieties were chocolate chip, molasses and ice box. At Christmastime, we always had cut-out sugar cookies too. Mother had lots of the old fashioned metal cookie cutters in shapes like Santa, a tree and an angel.

One Fall when I was 5 or 6 years old, my sister, Linda decided to make cut-out Halloween cookies. While we had plenty of Christmas cookie cutters, we didn't have any Halloween ones. I'm not sure there were even any available to buy way back then. Linda had the idea to make our own cookie stencils out of an empty cereal box. She drew a witch's hat and a pumpkin on the box and cut out the stencils. We then put the stencils on the rolled out cookie dough and cut around them with a knife. Besides the witch's hat and the pumpkin, we also wanted to have a ghost stencil. Some how I was put in charge of making that stencil. I drew my best ghost and cut it out of the cereal box. I don't remember Linda commenting on my finished stencil. We made the cookies and when Daddy came into the house, we offered him one to eat. He knew what the pumpkins and the witch's hats were. He then looked at my ghosts and said, "What are those? Augers?" Did I mention that I was never good at art? I honestly don't remember my reaction at the time. But I can tell you that we kept all three of our cookie stencils and made those same cookies for several years. And every year, my ghosts were called Auger Cookies. I'm pretty sure they were Daddy's favorites.

When Daddy died and his casket had the secret little drawer I mentioned in another entry, family members put pictures and notes in the drawer. I wrote a letter that I placed in the drawer. But I wanted to put something more in there as well. I thought for a long time about what that 'something more' could be. And then I remembered the long forgotten Auger Cookies. So, I drew a ghost (or should I say an auger) on a piece of paper, cut it out and put it in the drawer. I smiled and was satisfied with my choice.

My drawing (today) similar to
the ghost/auger I drew as a kid

I now have quite a collection of cookie cutters of my own, ranging from the traditional reindeer and Christmas trees to less common shaped ones like the state of Minnesota, a cactus and even a margarita glass. And I do have Halloween ones shaped like pumpkins, bats and ghosts. But no matter how hard I look, I can not find an auger shaped cookie cutter. Luckily, I know how to make an auger stencil.

Quaking Aspen

On my morning walks, I always pass a cluster of Aspen trees. They have long grabbed my attention. I've considered writing about them before, but have dismissed the idea several times. The leaves, however, keep pulling me in, asking me to tell their story. I see them moving when the air seems still and I hope that I am like them, fluttering and speaking when God whispers to me.

Quaking Aspen

Tiny green leaves

on trees of white bark

always eager

to spread Your Word

Even on the

calmest of days

responding to
Your mere whisper

Dancing and singing
reflecting Your glory
in beautiful
poetic motion

Captivating,
drawing one in
as other leaves
remain still

Huddling together
in wind storms
and moving
in unison

Together
enduring storms
better than trees
which protest the wind

As days shorten
and Autumn arrives
green leaves transform
to brilliant gold

Their song 
becomes louder
their dance
more beautiful

Golden leaves
become crisp with age
praising You
with greater enthusiasm

Make me like
the aspen leaf
moving at the very whisper
of Your voice

Dancing for You
in the tiniest breeze
which other leaves
refuse to acknowledge

Let my words
become a song for You
My actions
a beautiful dance

Lead me to
live a life
which reflects
Your magnificent glory

Remind me
that in unison with others
life's storms
are more easily endured

When life's Autumn
approaches
may I continue
to quake for You

Transform me into
the golden aspen leaves
which sing Your praises
louder than ever

Red Fox, Revisited

 

one of two red fox in our backyard 6/24/12



Early on in my blogging, I posted an entry called "Does God Smell Like a Red Fox?" I told how after my dad died, a red fox kept appearing in our back yard, on my morning walks and other  times  when I just needed a little "sign" from above. When my sister Jo was diagnosed with breast cancer last winter, the fox appeared again after a long hiatus. Then on the morning of June 24 of this year, I looked out the window, and there were two red foxes in the back yard! That day was the one year anniversary of my mom's funeral.

 

As our daughter, Danielle's confirmation day was approaching recently, I just had a feeling that the red fox would be showing up again.  Fearing my husband and kids would think I'd lost it, I didn't tell them. Last Tuesday afternoon, Eric and I were gone to school conferences with Lauren and Evan. When we got home, Dani told me that she had seen a fox in the backyard while we were gone! I then told them that I'd had a feeling the red fox would be showing up.

When I originally wrote about the red fox sightings, I mentioned that I didn't think my dad was coming back to me in the form of a fox. But I felt that God knows each of us so intimately, that he knows what things to send our way to feel His presence. I still believe that. My dad trapped hundreds of red foxes in his younger years and seeing foxes after my dad died, just brought me peace. I had shared that with my mom. When the fox sightings happened again while she was dying and at significant times after she was gone, the peace continued. God knew I found comfort in seeing the fox and sent it when I most needed it.



Eric brushed off the connection between the fox sightings and God as coincidence. One day last year I was talking to him about it and prefaced my story with, "I know you'll think I'm nuts, but..." He stopped me part way through my story and told me that he didn't think I was nuts. He said he only wished he could be as certain as I was in my belief. I understood that. There were many times that others spoke of their faith with such certainty that I envied them. If only I had as strong of a faith as they did. And yet some how I just knew these fox sightings were from God. I just knew. Just a couple of weeks ago, Eric shared with me a dream he had. In it, he was talking to someone about my fox sightings. He told the person that to an unbeliever, the sightings were just a coincidence. To the skeptic, they were a possible sign. And to the believer, well...they just knew. I had to go one extra step, so I asked him which of those categories he fell into. He was honest and said he fell into the skeptic category. I'm ok with that. It's a step up from how he originally viewed it.



Great niece Meghan
and Obbles



Grant and Zach giving
kisses to Ms. Dani

My view on the red fox has actually evolved a bit too. None of us actually saw a red fox on Dani's confirmation day. Yes, she saw one several days before and I do find comfort in that. On Sunday, we were busy celebrating with family and friends and never bothered to look out the back windows of the house. There could have been a fox or two out there, but if there were, they went unnoticed. However, I saw other "red fox" that day. The joy of seeing Dani and her friends declare their faith...red fox. Hearing some of Dani's faith statement in Pastor Morrie's beautiful sermon...red fox. Watching two little boys from her church school class sneaking up to sit with Dani...red fox. Feeling Mother and Daddy's presence as Pastor Tim confirmed Dani...red fox. Seeing the mom of one of the church school boys crying in Dani's arms after reading the tribute Dani had written to her...red fox. Talking with this same mom and realizing how much more deeply Dani's words described her than even Dani knew...red fox. Watching new children play with Obbles, my favorite childhood toy...red fox. Seeing the gift of Dani's confirmation plaque from Grandpa and Grandma Betz, all the way from Heaven...red fox.



Dani's confirmation plaque
My dad made the plaque,
instructing my mom to get
it engraved. Dani picked
her verse while Grandma
was still alive. My sister
Jo had the retired local
jeweler do the engraving.



Yes, my view on the red fox has changed. I still believe that God sends me comfort and peace and love through my red fox sightings. But I now see how limited my definition of "red fox" was before.  Red fox come in many forms. They aren't just red and they aren't just foxes. "Red fox" come in whatever form God chooses to allow me to feel His presence. If I had sat around on Sunday, waiting to see a red fox in the usual form, I would have missed the numerous ones all around me.

How can I be so certain? When it happens to you, you just know. You just know!

May your day be blessed with red fox sightings.



Autumn Trees

Winding paths

Trees ablaze

With colors

Of Autumn

Beauty everywhere

Vibrant

New palettes

For aging leaves

Stillness

And silence

But listen

Listen Intently

Faint breezes

Gracing treetops

So lightly

Almost unnoticed

Leaves softly

Whispering

Quiet words

To one another

Promises

Regrets

Love

Good-byes

Beauty

All around

Yet look

Look closely

Scars and

Wrinkles

Masked

By vibrant color

Death

Disguised

By the beauty

Of Autumn

Leaves

Ready to let go

To fly

And dance

Colorful leaves

Left behind

Mourning those

Gone ahead

Wondering

And dreaming

Of their

Approaching flight

From below

The tree

A new view

Of everything

A tiny part

Of an enormous whole

Unseen

When in the midst

Clarity and

Understanding now

Blind and

Invisible before

Leaves collect

Below the trees

Together

Once again

Welcome home

Sung louder

In the rustling

Of each newly added leaf

Old People

I have a confession to make: I love old people.

It’s funny how my definition of “old” has changed over the years. When I was a young kid, 30 seemed ancient. As a teen, forty was old.  In my 20’s, “old” was anyone 10 years older than my parents.  The older I get, the older “oId” gets. I think I finally admitted that my parents were old when my dad turned 90.

Danielle teases me that most of my church friends are a good 20 years older than me. That may be true, but I don’t consider them to be old people. I do still love them, though. To me, they are like sisters. Maybe it’s because I am the youngest of eight and there is almost a 20 year difference between my oldest sister and me. Even as a teen I seemed to relate more to adults than to other teens. I suppose it’s because most of my siblings were already adults by the time I was a teenager. I’d like to think it’s just that I was mature, but I’m sure there are a few people who would disagree with me on that.

When I was a kid, I realized that my parents were the age of many of my friends’ grandparents. After all, my mom was 42 when I was born and my dad was almost 49. It bothered me some that Mother and Daddy were so much older than my friends’ parents. The older I became, the more I saw the benefits of having older parents. My parents had perfected their parenting by the time I came along. My dad used to tell the story of how when my oldest sister, Kathy, was a newborn she cried a lot. Fearing something was terribly wrong with her, they took her to the doctor and were told, “She’s hungry…feed her more!” By the time I showed up, they knew what my cries meant. They’d also been through every stage of child rearing 7 times, so nothing I did shook them. Then again, maybe that’s because I was so mature. Or not.

Having older parents did make me worry about losing them though. (There is sure to be another blog entry about that somewhere down the road.) I was certain that I’d lose my parents before any of my friends would lose their much younger parents. Little did I know that Daddy would live to 91 and Mother would live to 87.

So who are these old people I love? Most of them I don’t even know. I see them in grocery stores and sitting on benches and nearly everywhere I go. They might be using a walker or cane or wheelchair. Sometimes they are holding the arm of their adult child or their spouse.  Their hair is gray or white or gone. They are bent and walk slowly. Their faces and hands are wrinkled. And they are beautiful to me. I look at them and see that they have lived.  Even though I don’t know them, I want to ask them about their lives. I know they have stories to tell, stories of their childhoods, of friendships and loves, of heartbreak and loss. They have lived long enough to realize what is truly important in life. Their stories would surely reflect that. That is beauty…pure and simple.

Who Did She Love More?

Before meeting Eric, I'd taken one or two other boys home to meet my parents. They weren't serious boyfriends, but I learned quickly that my parents viewed them as such. Once I figured that out, I told Mother and Daddy that I wouldn't be bringing boyfriends home any more unless I intended to marry them. I don't remember exactly how long Eric and I dated before I took him home. We were serious, but remembering what I'd told my parents about bringing another boyfriend home, I decided to have a little fun with them. When Eric and I got to the farm, I introduced Eric as "Stef's boyfriend". Stef was my roommate at the time. My parents met her when Stef and I were in college together. Stef was much taller than me...and several inches taller than Eric. Mother and Daddy knew right away that Eric was in fact my boyfriend. I'm sure they also suspected that a wedding wouldn't be far off.

They loved Eric from the day they met him. I've always admired Eric for being able to talk to anyone about anything. He showed an interest in hearing about farming and trapping from Daddy. And he loved to eat, so that won Mother's heart! I do remember telling Eric not to talk religion or politics with Daddy though!

Over the years, Eric was always willing to help out with things around the farm. And as Mother and Daddy got older, he would help them in any way he could. I know they appreciated it greatly. Mother said on more than one occasion that they considered him "more son than in-law". I think they felt that way about all their sons and daughters in law. Mother and Daddy liked Eric so much that I often teased him (and them) that they loved him more than they loved me. It became a bit of an ongoing joke between Eric and I.

Even when Mother was in hospice, I teased Eric that she loved him more. Every summer, on Father's Day weekend, Eric would golf in a tournament in Rochester with his dad. Mother ended up in hospice just a day before the start of that tournament. Eric's mom generously offered to watch our kids while Eric golfed and I spent time with my mom. At that point, I didn't want Lauren and Evan to see Grandma as I knew it would have been hard on them. They'd seen her a week before when she was still in good spirits and I wanted then to remember her like that. And as I was losing my own mom, I knew it was important for Eric to spend time with his dad. Surely their years of playing that annual tournament were numbered.

The doctor had given us his opinion that Mother had "days rather than weeks" to live. When I told Eric to go ahead and play the tournament, I said that if Mother died before it was finished, that I would need him to drop out of the tournament and be there for me. I teased Eric that we'd find out once and for all who Mother loved more...him or me. I told him that if she lived through the golf tournament, it would be obvious that she loved him more, since she knew how much he loved golfing.

Eric had plans to travel to New Jersey for work the week following Father's Day. When our kids were little, I hated it when he had to travel. As our kids got older, it didn't bother me as much, but I still liked it better when he was home.

Eric and Danielle came to the hospital on Thursday night to see me and to visit my mom for what they knew would be the last time. On Father's Day, Danielle was to leave on a mission trip for church. We knew that Grandma would want her to go and we'd already made plans with the trip leaders to retrieve Dani if my mom died during the week they were gone.

Eric's golf tournament ended Saturday night. Mother was still hanging on. Dani left Sunday morning on her mission trip, just as Grandma would have wanted. Late that same afternoon, Mother went home to Heaven.

When I saw Eric, I joked with him that Mother must have loved him more than me, since she held on until after his golf tournament ended. It then occurred to me that by dying when she did, her funeral would be held during the time that Eric was to be in New Jersey. His trip had to be cancelled. Mother knew how much I used to hate when Eric was out of town on business. She had seen to it that he wouldn't have to go on that trip after all. Maybe she really did love me just as much as she loved him!

One thing I have learned is that it is ok, and even therapeutic, to keep a sense of humor during life's most difficult moments.